


I Know Who I Want to Take Me Home

by malapertqueen



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blowjobs, Drinking, M/M, Mutual Pining, mild student/professor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 21:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11700408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malapertqueen/pseuds/malapertqueen
Summary: When you run into your hot thesis adviser at the bar after the last day of classes, try to play it cool.





	I Know Who I Want to Take Me Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wellreadfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellreadfan/gifts).



> For wellreadfan, with love

The bar is already packed with people when Alex arrives, only a few minutes later than he’d thought he would be. He hears Eliza’s voice rising above the music, calling his name, and he weaves his way through the crowd of familiar and unfamiliar faces before he reaches the high tables his small group of friends have already claimed as their own.

“Alex!” Eliza flings herself at him with a drunken cry of joy and presses a messy kiss to his cheek. “How does it feel?”

“Like I need about four shots of whiskey and a month’s sleep.” Alex gracefully disentangles himself from Eliza, directing her back towards the safety of her sisters with a gentle nudge. “You started without me?”

“Angelica and I did shots in the TA office after my last class took their exam.” Eliza beams at her older sister, who just gives Alex a smug grin and sips her cocktail, leaning against the wall next to Peggy. “We were gonna find you, but Ben said you were in Washington’s office.”

“Yeah, we were just talking about how my defense went.” Alex shrugs, but his brain is already replaying the brief moment where Washington had said “ _I’m proud of you, Alex_ ” and had put a hand on his shoulder. It had been the first time he could remember that Washington had actually touched him on purpose; Alex feels like it should have left a mark of some kind, like a burn you’d get from getting too close to a bonfire.

“We’ll get you caught up, don’t worry.” Angelica nudges Alex’s shin with the toe of her heeled boot, handing over a shot glass from the tray on the table. “Bottoms up, Hamilton.”

The alcohol is sharp and burns all the way down; Alex coughs, blinking back tears as he sets the glass back down next to the one Angelica had taken. “Jesus, what the hell Angelica; you couldn’t spring for the good tequila?”

“Good tequila is wasted on shots.” Angelica pushes another one towards him, just as Lafayette and Hercules appear through a gap in the crowd; Herc is carrying two buckets of Corona bottles and Gil has a giant basket of the bar’s famously greasy fries.

“The conquering hero graces us with his presence!” Lafayette slides the fries onto the table and then nearly lifts Alex off the ground in a hug. “Congratulations, my friend!”

“Thanks, Gil.” He eyes the basket of fries; it’s bigger than usual and there’s a cup of barbecue sauce tucked to one side (which Alex loves), which can only mean one thing. “Is John working the bar tonight?” 

“He says congrats on graduating, by the way.” Herc places down his own burden before snatching a bottle from the ice-filled bucket and twisting the cap. “Apparently there’s a faculty party tonight in the back room so he’s on the front bar, or he’d come back to say it himself.”

“I’ll take the extra fries as apology.” Alex snags two from the top of the pile and dips them in the sauce before he’s finished parsing Herc’s explanation. “Wait, _which_ faculty?”

“Dunno, but I saw Franklin in the bathroom earlier so I’d guess at least some of the history department. You know that dude never misses a party.” 

Alex nearly chokes on the french fries; he manages to swallow, coughing, and then immediately steals Herc’s opened but untouched beer and drinks half of it. “Well, good thing they’re in the back and we’re out here,” he says weakly, hoping no one notices, but everyone’s attention is on Herc, who is whining loudly about his stolen beer despite Eliza handing him a full one to replace it.

Shit. If Franklin is here, then there’s a decent chance Washington might be as well. 

Not that it would be a bad thing to run into his adviser-- _ex_ -adviser, he mentally corrects. 

It’s just the fact that he’s spent two and a half years building a library of explicit fantasies of exactly what he’d like to do with his former professor--or, more accurately, what he wants Washington to do to him. And if he gets drunk tonight like he’s supposed to, he’s probably going to verbalize one or two of those ideas and completely humiliate himself in front of a group of people who could ruin his entire post-graduate career.

Grimly aware of the consequences, Alex resolves to nurse his beer for as long as possible and refocuses on the group’s conversation, pretending that he’s absolutely been listening this whole time to Angelica’s story about someone’s mom calling her to demand that her kid not be failed for the semester.

Eventually, he relaxes somewhat and even manages to enjoy himself again, eating a good chunk of the basket of fries and some of the cheap bar pizza that appears later in the evening. As the night goes on with no sign of Washington, Alex lets himself have a second beer--not enough to get drunk by any standard, but enough to keep him pleasantly buzzed.

Finally, several hours later, Angelica puts an end to the evening by taking a shot out of Eliza’s hand and handing it to Gil, who drinks it without question.

“You’re cut off, Schuyler,” she says affectionately, kissing the top of her pouting sister’s head. “Time to pour you in a cab and get you home. Goodnight boys.” 

“You’re no fun,” Eliza mutters, but she obediently waves goodbye to Alex, Herc, and Lafayette and lets Angelica and Peggy guide her towards the door. 

The last remaining slice of cold pizza gets snatched up by Herc, who washes it down with the beer Angelica had left behind. “I’m crashing at your place, but we’re getting pancakes first,” he informs Lafayette, who shrugs and looks at Alex.

“I’m good,” Alex says, eyeing the way Herc sways slightly as he stands. “I actually want to sleep tonight, and I can’t do that if Herc is trying to be a one-man--”

“Hamilton.”

Alex turns automatically at the sound of his name, but he already knows who called him; it’s Washington, standing just outside the hallway that leads to the private party room in the back. He looks like like he did when Alex saw him earlier, only slightly more relaxed; the sleeves of his grey button-down are rolled up to his elbows, he’s missing his glasses, and he looks...amused?

_Don’t make this weird._ “Hey, Dr. Washington.” Alex keeps his voice steady, nodding in greeting. 

“You gentlemen enjoying yourselves?” Washington glances towards Lafayette and Herc for a moment before his gaze returns to Alex, who nods.

“Some of us a little too much,” he says, looking pointedly at Herc who cheerfully flips him the bird. He hears Washington choke on a laugh as Lafayette gently pushes Herc’s hand down to his side and sighs.

“Let’s get some pancakes and then I’ll take you home” Lafayette nods to Washington, and gives Alex an odd look. “Goodnight Alex, Dr. Washington.”

Washington lifts a hand in farewell as Lafayette guides Hercules out the front door. Neither he nor Alex speak for a moment, but Washington finally breaks the silence with a quiet question.

“Are you heading out as well?” 

Alex should say yes. He should say yes and just go before this moment gets awkward. “I don’t know,” he admits finally, surprising himself by the fact that it’s actually true. “I was thinking about it.” 

“Well, I was going out back for some air, if you care to join me while you think it over?” Washington nods towards the emergency exit door at the end of the hallway, which (as always) is propped open with a cement block, leading out into the back alley. Alex and Gil used to occasionally smoke back there on the ‘patio’ during particularly stressful weeks.

Tonight the alley is empty of smokers and anyone else, but the makeshift patio is still there; a handful of mismatched, rusting metal chairs and a wooden table with a crushed beer can under one leg to level it out. Just the right amount of class for what could affectionately be termed a dive bar.

“John keeps saying they’re going to actually build something out here,” Alex eyes the chairs with distrust. “But I’m pretty sure that’s bullshit.”

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” Washington says dryly, also avoiding the patio furniture. He and Alex stand side-by-side for a moment and silence descends between them again. Alex and silence don’t mix very well, especially not when he’s already on edge, and he fidgets with his cellphone, checking his email (nothing) and his Facebook (eight drunken messages from Eliza, all from the taxi ride home). 

“You know,” Washington says out of the blue, and Alex nearly drops his phone. “I never asked what your plans were for the summer. Are you staying in town?”

“Probably?” Alex tucks his phone away and looks up at Washington, who does look genuinely curious as to his answer. “I still have that internship at the museum, and Dr. Schuyler mentioned there was a research assistant post open that I might try for with one of the visiting curators.”

“I was actually going to suggest that as well, but of course Henry beat me to it.” Washington sounds vaguely annoyed by that fact. “I think Dr. Von Steuben would be happy to have you as a researcher for the summer.” 

“What makes you say that?”

“He’s...very exuberant. And he likes it when his assistants challenge him.” There’s something else in Washington’s voice now, a hardness that Alex can’t quite place. He frowns, trying to gauge Washington’s expression in the dim alley light and failing; Washington is as stoic as ever. “I’ve worked with him once or twice and he’s very good at what he does, even if his behavior is a bit questionable at times.”

Dr. Schuyler had implied something similar when he’d mentioned the job to Alex the other day, only in slightly less diplomatic terms. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been hit on at work,” he replies, remembering the awkward summer he’d spent working as a lifeguard during his undergrad. “At least this time I’ll be wearing a shirt.”

Washington goes very still beside him; even in the dim light, Alex can see that his jaw is clenched. So, apparently Von Steuben’s flirting is a sore point with him. There’s got to be some history there between Washington and Von Steuben that he doesn’t know--Washington isn’t the type to dislike people without a reason. 

“I can handle one lecherous old man,” Alex says, trying to inject as much reassurance as possible into his words and diffuse some of the tension. It doesn’t work; in fact, Washington looks vaguely ill now and he’s not looking at Alex anymore.

“It’s not Von Steuben’s behavior I’m worried about,” Washington mutters towards the sky, so quiet that Alex has to strain to hear him.

It’s a low blow, one he didn’t expect to come from his adviser; they’ve had disagreements over the years, sometimes devolving into some pretty serious shouting matches, but Washington has never outright implied that Alex couldn’t handle himself in a situation, or that he was unprofessional.

“All due respect, _sir_.” Alex grits his teeth, his mind rushing ahead to already start forming a response to any counter-argument Washington might throw at him. “I don’t need you to lecture me about keeping my hands to myself at work. I’ve been doing that just fine for years now.”

“So have I!” Washington snaps, rounding on him. His hard gaze focuses on Alex’s mouth and Alex promptly forgets whatever he’d been readying himself to respond with.

Oh.

It’s like his entire world shifts on its axis; every single strange, tense moment between them rushes through Alex’s mind, colored now with this new information. Some of the things Alex had always assumed were just weird quirks of Washington’s suddenly make absolute sense--his office door always open whenever Alex was in there, the way he never suggested meeting with Alex anywhere but public spaces, his careful physical distance. Alex can’t even remember a single moment that he’d been completely alone with Washington at any point during his time as a grad student. Hell, Alex has never even been to his _house_ despite the fact that he knows Gil has been there a few times for dinner with some of the other grad students.

All this time Alex has tried so hard to keep Washington from figuring out his crush, has gone out of his way not to make things awkward, and now suddenly he’s finding out he could have been riding his hot advisor’s dick the _entire time_? 

“Oh my god you are such an asshole,” Alex says, grabbing a handful of Washington’s shirt and dragging him down into a hard kiss. Washington goes rigid for a split second, then pushes away from Alex.

“We can’t--” he starts, trying to put more distance between them, but Alex lets out a hard laugh. It softens into a grin when he sees Washington’s confused expression.

“Not a student any more,” he reminds Washington, stepping forward into the other man’s personal space again until they’re just inches apart. “As of noon today, you’re no longer in charge of my ass.” Alex pauses. “Unless you want to be, in the purely recreational sense?” He’s maybe got a fantasy or six that involve that very scenario and now he _really_ wants to try one or two of them out. For research purposes, of course.

Washington rolls his eyes, but his posture relaxes. “You’re incorrigible,” he says. There’s a surprising level of fondness to it that stuns Alex into silence. When he still can’t find anything to say, Washington’s expression shifts to concern and he tries to step back again. “Alexander, if you don’t--”

Alex grips his shirt even tighter, pulling Washington back to him. “Say it again,” he whispers, watching Washington’s brow furrow as he deciphers Alex’s request. He can tell the minute Washington figures it out by the way his expression shifts from confusion to hunger.

“Alexander,” Washington breathes his name like a caress; it’s almost too quiet to hear, but he might as well have shouted it from the full-body shiver it elicits from Alex in response. Washington sucks in a sharp breath, and then Alex finds himself pressed up against the brick alley wall, bracketed by Washington’s broader frame.

“Tell me you want to stop, and I’ll stop.” Alex can feel the way Washington is physically holding himself back, giving Alex an out if he doesn’t want this; he knows with absolute certainty that if he said no right now, Washington would let him go without a protest. It’s reassuring, even if Alex has absolutely zero intention of backing out now.

“If you stop, I’m definitely letting Von Steuben get as handsy as he wants,” he threatens; Washington swears under his breath and Alex barely has time to laugh before Washington’s mouth is on his again, using his full weight to pin Alex against the wall hard enough that he can feel the imprint of the bricks through his thin t-shirt.

“Did you know,“ Washington murmurs when he breaks their kiss for breath, pressing his thigh between Alex’s legs; Alex bites his lip to stifle a groan at the sudden pressure against his dick, gripping Washington’s shoulders to keep himself steady. “I used to go home and jerk off after our meetings because all I kept thinking about was bending you over my desk.”

“Holy shit,” Alex gasps, whimpering when Washington’s teeth nip just below his jaw. Washington’s ancient, institutional metal desk definitely has a starring role in some of his favorite fantasies. “Is that an option? Can we do that?” 

Washington lets out a huff of laughter, the warmth of his breath against the sensitive skin of Alex’s throat making him shiver again. “Not in my office. The lock is broken.”

“Damn.” Alex doesn’t even have to fake his disappointment. “I really like that desk. It looked sturdy.”

“Enough about the desk.” Washington’s hands grab Alex by the hips and pull him closer until he’s straddling Washington’s thigh, held upright now by just the wall and Washington’s grip. 

“But--” Alex starts, his brain racing straight back into his typical ‘argue the point’ mindset, but both his words and his thoughts are cut off when Washington kisses him again and pushes Alex’s thighs a little further apart.

Alex rocks his hips experimentally and groans at the friction--it’s almost too much, but Washington’s thigh is rock-steady beneath him and it’s not long before he’s practically rutting against it, gasping for breath in between kisses. One of Washington’s hands moves from Alex’s hip to his chest, pinching at one nipple beneath his t-shirt and he keens, arching up into the touch.

“Fuck, please, _more_ ,” Alex whines as Washington moves his attention to his other nipple, swallowing Alex’s cry with another kiss. It’s desperate and messy and Alex definitely is going to have a bruise on his shoulder from the wall tomorrow but he doesn’t care, this is what he’s been wanting for two fucking years and it’s even better than he imagined.

“Alexander,” Washington rumbles, pressing the heel of his hand against Alex’s trapped erection. That’s all it takes to send Alex tumbling over the edge, smothering his gasps against Washington’s shoulder as he shudders through the aftershocks. 

He doesn’t even realize that Washington is stroking his back until he manages to gather all his wits again, the world settling into focus once more. At the same time, unfortunately, he becomes uncomfortably aware of the sticky mess in his boxers.

“Next time, pants off,” he grumbles, grimacing when Washington eases him down until he’s standing on his own two feet again. “Not a fan of having to walk home like this.”

Washington looks more than a little bit guilty at Alex’s obvious discomfort. “Don’t walk, I’ll call you a cab,” he offers, stepping back and giving Alex some space to move. “You should head home anyway, it’s late and you have commencement tomorrow.”

“Um, what?” Alex frowns, backtracking through the conversation to try and figure out what just happened and why Washington seemed so eager to get rid of him despite the clearly visible (and impressive) bulge in his pants. “I don’t get a turn?”

“You don’t have to,” Washington begins, but the outline of his dick in his jeans is calling Alex’s name and like hell he’s ending the night without getting his hands on that prize. 

Alex drops down to the ground and smirks up at Washington, who looks surprised to see him on his knees. “You didn’t think I’d come and run, did you?” he asks, mock-offended, and leans in to press his cheek against the bulge in the front of Washington’s jeans. From above, he hears Washington swear again but one of his hands comes to rest lightly on the back of Alex’s head and he takes that as permission to continue.

He’s a little too eager for this to be suave about it, fingers fumbling for a moment on the buckle of Washington’s belt before he’s got it undone, pushing the leather out of the way to get to the fly on his jeans. And wow, two years of vivid fantasies about this moment didn’t prepare him for the hitch in Washington’s voice as he says Alex’s name, choking off the last syllable when Alex frees the head of his dick from his boxer-briefs. 

“Happy graduation to me,” he says under his breath, not caring if Washington can hear him. Judging by the groan from above, he could and didn’t much appreciate Alex’s sense of humor right now. 

Alex definitely had a fix for that. Sliding Washington's’ jeans and boxers further down, Alex wraps his hand around Washington’s cock and then stops, not moving until Washington is looking down at him again. As soon as they make eye contact, Alex opens his mouth and leans in, swallowing as much of Washington’s cock as he can without gagging.

“Jesus Christ,” Washington swears, the hand on Alex’s head gripping reflexively into his hair. He stares down at Alex, his expression a mix of awe and desire. “Hamilton…” 

Alex hums in acknowledgement, taking in a little more before he pulls off with an obscenely wet sound. “Yes, sir?” Washington’s cock twitches in his hand when he drops the ‘sir’ and Alex’s grin turns wicked. “So, that’s a thing huh?”

Washington doesn’t directly acknowledge the question, but the flash of heat in his eyes is all the answer Alex needs. “Did I tell you to stop?” he rumbles, the hand on Alex’s head pushing him back down towards Washington’s dick and despite the cliche of it all, Alex is definitely into this.

“No, sir,” he murmurs, swallowing Washington’s cock again without hesitation. He alternates between his mouth and his hand, sometimes slowing down until Washington growls his name in warning. His own dick is getting interested in the proceedings but Alex ignores it, focusing on the task at hand until he feels Washington tap his shoulder.

“Hamilton,” he says, a definite warning. Alex waves his free hand dismissively and keeps going, sucking harder even though his jaw is beginning to ache. It doesn’t take long for Washington to groan loudly above him, just enough warning for Alex to pull back, catching a bit of come on one cheek before he fists his hand around Washington’s cock and works him through the end of his orgasm. 

“Jesus Christ,” Washington repeats, breathing heavily. Alex wipes his hand on his already-ruined jeans and stands, letting himself feel properly smug about the way Washington looks absolutely wrecked. Not that Alex doesn’t feel pretty wrecked himself, or that he’s not half-hard again just looking at Washington’s rumpled, flushed appearance as he tucks himself back into his pants.

“You know,” Washington says, glancing at Alex as he buckles his belt. “My car is just down the block. And my condo has a washing machine.”

“That is the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard,” Alex complains, but he’s grinning as he leans back in to kiss Washington again. It’s not desperate and heavy like it was before, but it’s still hot enough to leave Alex dizzy and wanting more. 

When he finally pulls away, Washington brushes the stripe of come off Alex’s cheek with his thumb. It’s an oddly tender gesture; despite the fact that they just had sex in an alley outside a bar, it’s the tenderness that makes Alex’s cheeks flush red. 

“It is pretty terrible,” Washington admits. He looks as calm as ever, but there’s something in his voice that betrays his uncertainty. “But did it work?” 

“I don’t know.” Alex smiles. “How good are you at making pancakes?”


End file.
